Horrors at the Opera
by littlp
Summary: This story is loosely based off of the 1989 movie with Robert Englund. This was one of my early attempts at horror writing so please bear with me. Rated for violence.
1. Default Chapter

6

Tapping her foot impatiently, Meg looked at her watch for what seemed like the fifth time in the past fifteen minutes.

"What on earth can be taking her so long?" she asked herself. She clutched her coat tighter as a brisk wind blew by.

"Excuse me, miss, but the library is closing soon. You might want to grab your friend," informed a lanky custodian.

"Thanks," she breathed as she turned and went through the sliding doors.

"Christine?" The name echoed against the huge cavern of a hall. The custodian had already turned most of the lights off, giving the library an eerie feeling.

"Christine? Where can she be?" Meg asked, walking quicker. She saw a bright light at the bottom of the stairs.

Shuffling through yellow stacks of parchment, Christine Daae pulled a strand of black hair out of the way as she searched for a decent song for auditions for the most elite group in New York City.

"Christine?"

"I'm down here, Meg!"

"It figures, she would be in the spookiest part of the building." Her timid footsteps echoed in the music hall.

"Christine! You've been here for over ten hours! Take a break!"

Christine sat back on her tattered heels, rubbed her pale face and sighed.

"I can't. Not until I find the perfect piece for auditions."

"Getting a part means a lot to you," Meg said softly, emerging from the shadows, kneeling down and touching her friend on the arm.

"It's my dream! I have to make it!" Christine said firmly, raising her hand to her forehead, trying to stop the beginnings of a headache.

"Let me help," Meg said as Christine bent over the stack again, taking a seat on the marble floor.

"Thank…Yes! This is it!" Christine cried, holding a shabby packet, with blood red letters inscribed on it.

"What is it?" Meg asked as she tried to read the title while Christine waved it around excitedly.

"A mysterious composer…Meg this is different!" Christine said dreamily, finally settling down.

Meg pried the manuscript from Christine's hands and leafed through it.

"Erik Barye… I think I've heard of him before…"

"You read about him when we had to sing the Requiem."

Meg gasped as she recalled what she had learned.

"Christine! This man committed mass murder!"

"He did it for love, Meg. This piece…_Don Juan Triumphant_…was written for his sweetheart."

Meg rubbed her temples as she tried to extract something else that she had read, something that was even more troubling than the mass murders.

"I remember that there was something said about his girlfriend, wait! She wasn't his girlfriend! He tried to kidnap her, no, he did, and she was never seen again!"

"Calm down Meg!" Christine said with a faraway look in her eyes, "I know the story and I think it's so sad."

Meg adjusted her spectacles, gave her friend a stern glance with her amber eyes. Her auburn hair stood on end, giving her the appearance of just seeing a ghost.

"Her name was Christine, and she disappeared when he sang this song on the stage with her, after killing the male lead and taking his place."

Meg opened Don Juan and pointed to a song.

"Shadows," Christine whispered, yanking the manuscript out of her friend's trembling hands

"Christine, he was barely known as a composer."

"All the more reason to sing it!" Christine said sharply, starting to hum the tune to herself.

"It is said that this performance was going to be Christine's last. She had made plans to escape with Raoul, a male suitor, to get away from Erik's clutches. Apparently, he found out somehow, made a pact with the devil to make beautiful music and keep his love. In return, the devil demanded his soul, and his face. I don't know the rest, Christine, but I don't think that you should sing it."

"You are so silly!" Christine remarked, throwing her arms into the air, "Honestly, if I had a nickel for every time you've said something superstitious, I would be a millionaire!"

Meg didn't look amused. Suddenly, a flash of lightening lit the dim Music Hall, followed by a deafening crash of thunder.

"Christine! Please, just," Meg sighed and crossed her arms over her chest, trying not to show that she was scared, but wanted desperately to get out of the dank corridors of the deserted Music Hall.

"Meg you silly goose, just go on up and meet me at the coffee shop. I'll be there once I pick up my mess here," Christine said impatiently.

"Ok," Meg said, satisfied, "Don't take too long now!"

Christine dismissed her with an agitated wave of her arm, picking up various pieces of music and putting them back into their respective designations. Finally finished with her task, she stood up, stretched her stiff muscles, dusted herself off and started to leave.

"You dork!" Christine said to herself, smacking herself in the forehead, "You've almost left without the very piece you've been worrying about!"

She walked across the room where she had set it down after Meg had left. In the eerie moonlight, the red letters and notes jumped out at her, begging to be read.

"I suppose I could browse through it, in case it's not really what I wanted," Christine told herself, a sly smile creeping across her face.

Walking close to the window for light, she turned to _Shadows_ and started to hum the tune.

"You're going to be my lifesaver, Erik Bayre," she whispered softly, reverently kissing the page.

"At least I can be your lifesaver," a distant, husky voice replied.

Christine jumped, looked around, but saw nothing. Deeming it a result from lack of sleep, she walked towards the green Exit sign, still humming the tune.

"I wonder if the story is true?" she questioned suddenly, stopping dead in her tracks as she heard a rustling behind her.

"Christine! Are you coming?"

Christine jumped, then giggled to herself,

"I'm getting just as bad as her!"

She called out that she had some more papers to put away, not knowing what possessed her to tell such a lie. Maybe this composer is getting to me, she thought to herself as she started to close the packet.

"Sing for me."

She looked around, but didn't see anything except the flashes of lightening and the dull flicker of the streetlamps.

"Give me my pride and sing for me, Christine."

Against her will, she found her finger point to the beginning of _Shadows_ and from the depths of her very soul, came a voice so exquisite that she couldn't believe that it was her own.

"_Shadows You tremble, you quake,_

_Don't be afraid, your lover will not hurt you…_"

She couldn't stop. Eyes wide open; she began to feel lightheaded as various shapes swam in her vision.

"_Shadows. Don't hide, I will find you._

_Give yourself to Don Juan, He will be Triumphant once again._"

Legs trembling like Jell-O, she fell to the floor, clutching her head as a man's horribly deformed face, fire bursting out of the empty sockets.

"Come back Christine. It is time for you to come to your Erik."

The husky voice continued the song while in the background screams echoed as visions of shattered mirrors, blood, skinned bodies, singers in old costumes, until finally she fainted, with the voice's last words echoing in her confused mind,

"Welcome Christine. I knew you'd return."


	2. Chapter 2

"She sang your song," the devil cackled.

Erik laid on the floor, weeping uncontrollably, his cloak spread across the floor like an injured bat's wing.

"I forgot to tell you that once she sang your song, anything covering that thing on your neck would melt," the devil said evilly.

Erik lifted his head, glared at the red devil, holding his blistering hands with the melted mask caked on them.

"You son of an ass! This wasn't part of the agreement!"

"Oh but it is!" the devil said, perching on Erik's precious organ scratching his black nails against the shiny finish of the ivory keys, "You cannot hide your face, it's plain as water right there." With a flick of his wrist, a contact appeared in a cloud of sickly green smoke. Gold words in italic cursive popped out,

"Once pathetic lover has sung enchanted song, you shall not hide your face from her. Anything placed on or over will melt and/or be destroyed instantaneously."

Erik grinded his teeth and hissed furiously,

"Miserable wench! You added that part!"

Smoking from the ears, the devil grabbed his fire hot pitchfork and gave Erik a vicious jab with it.

"NO, you withering, pathetic, lovesick fool! You were so excited at the possibility of keeping Christine here that you barely took the time to read through it!"

Glaring at the pitchfork a finger away from his eyeballs, Erik knew better than to argue.

"Why are you arguing?" the devil asked as he jumped down from the organ, scattering pieces of music, razor sharp tail whacking Erik in the face, "The girl is yours. All you have to do is sing to her tonight, and she'll be with you."

"I don't believe you," Erik growled, holding his now bleeding face.

"Look on your finger," the devil replied with a careless gesture of his broken hand; ignoring the fact that Erik was bleeding.

Erik did and was astonished to find Christine's secret engagement ring from Raoul on his pinky finger. He tried to take it off, but his finger was so swollen that he couldn't get it off.

"Your rival cannot take her from you. Shut up and get ready for your party."

In a puff of black smoke and several heart wrenching screams, the devil returned to Hell.

Erik sighed, rubbing the remains of his melted mask off his hands. Strangely, though Christine was his, he didn't feel any joy. Only despair. She wouldn't love him! Especially now that he had a deformed face. Peering into the mirror that hung over his bed, he noted gloomily that bits of his mask stuck to the angry scars of the devils burning hand print, after he had signed the contract. There's no way Christine will ever want to sleep next to this, he thought sullenly.

"Remember, there are ways of beautifying your face," the devil's voice said in his head.

"I'm not that kind of monster!" he shouted to the empty room.

"Thought you might want to know your options. I assure you, you won't be getting any action with a face like that!"

Screaming with fury, he grabbed the cold mirror and smashed it against the stonewall; causing some of the candles that lit his house to flicker out.

"Temper, temper," the devil's voice muttered sarcastically, with a hint of amusement.

"Shut up!" Erik shrieked, holding his hands over his face, hands bleeding from the shards of glass that had rebounded and cut into his skin.

"Suit yourself."

Meanwhile, preparations for the party before the world première of an opera by an unknown composer (to the public that is). The managers were fussing and irritating everyone in their meticulous detailing according to Erik's wishes. They did not want another chandelier incident.

"Those roses don't look fresh enough!" Firmin, a short, stout man with thinning hair barked to a gruntled looking man, grass stained, hands bleeding, "Throw these out and get new ones. Everything must be perfect!"

The florist huffed, grabbed the flowers and rushed off to find new ones. Meanwhile, Andre, a tall imposing man was threatening the cook about the meal.

"This has to be the crème-de-la-crème, Lorenzo! If the Opera Ghost is displeased, it'll be your head and one of your children for every disaster that occurs tonight!"

"Yes, Sir!" the cook replied gruffly, face flushed from laboring over the stove for the past two days. Already he had baked a magnificent cake in the replica of the Paris Opera House. Candles flickered in the windows, giving it a lively appearance. Long oak tables with rich linen tablecloths held various assortments of delicious food. Ruby red punch, stuffed duck, roast boar, ten different kinds of potatoes, veggie dishes and fruit cocktails carved into shapes of famous singers, most of which were of Carlotta.

"Monsieur? I don't think the statues of Carlotta are a good idea," a pimply-faced door shutter said nervously to the cook.

"I don't have time for this!" the cook shouted angrily in a thick Italian accent, "I have done what the managers have told me to do!"

"Y-y-es sir," the door shutter said nervously, backing away from the butcher knife the cook pointed irritably at him.

At least a dozen servants were on their knees polishing the floor. A heavyset man sat in an easy chair shouting instructions.

"I want to be able to see my nose hairs on this floor! That's how shiny it needs to be! Pick up the pace! Do you want to meet the Ghost's magical Lasso? The party starts in five hours!"

Several smartly dressed maids were polishing the silver frames, wooden stairs, readying the dance floor for the Red Death Masquerade that the Phantom had requested before his opera was to begin. Everyone was highly stressed, mainly because the managers were getting in the way more than helping. By the end of the day, as the masquerade grew nearer, everyone was about to crack and kill someone.

Erik hunched over the lake, blood streaming from his neck. One of the shards of glass had cut his neck open. Cursing at his folly, he held the bloodstained cloth to his neck, in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Tears ran down his face, from pain and love sickness. Christine was his, but he didn't feel anything but grief. When he was handsome, she could have loved him. All he would have to do was control his temper that frightened her so. Now he had this horrible deformity that would make even the lepers quake.

"You there is away out of this," the devil's voice said cunningly.

"Forget it!" Erik cried, trying to block out the persuasive voice that had gotten him into this mess.

"You know you want to," the devil continued, "There are several people who wouldn't be missed."

Erik fell to the ground, twisted uncontrollably as his efforts caused his body to spasm.

"Carlotta, her maid, the managers…. Raoul."

"Stop it! Stop it! I'm not that type of monster!"

"Look at yourself! You're vile! I can barely stand looking at you, and I come from Hello for crying out loud! You're already damned, as your soul belongs to me. What difference does a couple deaths make?"

Erik stopped twisting and screaming, sat up, eyes filled with a new demonic light.

"That's more like it," the devil purred.

Erik ran back into his lair, threw on his cloak, grabbed his dreaded Punjab Lasso and a knife.

"I assume you know what needs to be done."

In response, Erik's lips curled into an evil grin.


	3. Chapter 3

Christine paced anxiously at her flat about twenty miles away from the Paris Opera House. She was still trembling from her experience with Erik, and was dreading the play for that night. She wore a white domino, complete with a jeweled mask. Her face was paler than usual, mask dangling on a thin string on her wrist.

"Raoul, oh come on!" she cried suddenly as she peered through the silky curtains for the tenth time.

"Christine, you really must calm down!" Meg said, adjusting her wig. She wore a white gown, complete with feather wings and a golden halo suspended over her head by a thick wire. Her cheeks were flushed at the excitement of the new opera, and seeing her fiancé again.

Christine sighed. No matter how many times she had tried to explain to them, they just didn't seem to get the effect Erik had upon her. Suddenly, her cheeks reddened and she flew out the door into the arms of an astonished black domino.

"Christine!" Raoul cried, trying not to fall down the slick steps.

"What took you so long?" Christine whimpered, her face buried into his costume.

Smoothing her hair in a calming gesture, he kissed her forehead.

"The Count had some last words he wanted with me. He's trying to stop me from doing something foolish."

Christine pulled back, looking in his face anxiously. He laughed, pulled her close as he assured,

"I have no intentions of leaving you! But I just don't understand why you insist on singing for that man!"

Before she could reply, Meg bounded down the stairs, halo swinging dangerously as she spotted her fiancé's carriage.

"Hurry up you two! We'll be late!"

Christine ran down the steps and bounded into the carriage, irritating Raoul that she didn't let him help her in. Meg and Carlos were greeting each other by nuzzling each other's necks, so Christine attempted slight conversation with Raoul as the carriage bumped along the dusky road. However, Raoul's mind was deeply engrossed with other things.

"Christine, are you ready to come away with me tonight?"

He sounded so doubtful that Christine's heart twisted as she put her hand to her heart and whispered passionately,

"Raoul, I give you my word! If I do not leave with you tonight, I shall be lost forever!"

Somewhat satisfied, he placed a kiss on her forehead, relaxing slightly.

Carlotta sat in her parlor, two maids fanning her and a waiter serving her grapes like she was sultan. As was her custom, she was complaining about the managers, Christine and the Phantom. She had been driven away when the Phantom had cruelly made her croak. So now she was just sitting around, complaining to those who would listen.

"That little slut, Christine Daae, slept with the Opera Ghost, got him on her side, trashing my reputation by making me croak!" she wailed, flinging a flabby arm out dramatically.

The maids silently nodded their heads in agreement. Unknown to Carlotta, they had put wads of cotton in their ears so they wouldn't have to hear her. Luckily, Carlotta was predicable as the sun, so they really didn't need to hear her orders.

"I had such a promising career. I promise, that I will return, triumphant, and those managers will be licking the floor I walk on to get me back!" she shouted, spraying grape juice all over the place. Suddenly, a figure appeared from the very floor that had once been solid.

"Piangi! Ublado! Come here! Come here!" Carlotta screamed, curling up into a ball.

"He is busy finding his face at the moment, but will be with shortly," said the black-cloaked figure sinisterly, face hidden.

Carlotta choked on her grape, eyes widening with recognition.

"Get him!" she hissed to the startled servants.

The waiter dropped his plate of grapes, cracked his knuckles and took a step forward. Unfortunate, several of the slippery grapes had scattered in his path, causing him to fall as the Punjab Lasso caught him around the neck. His eyes bulged briefly, before falling back, neck snapping as the figure jerked the rope towards him. The servants screamed and ran, abandoning Carlotta.

"Get back here!" she squeaked, eyes popping with fright.

The figure dragged the motionless body towards him, withdrew a knife, and jabbed it deep into the man's skull. With careful precision, he cut a circle around the face, and then with a sickening rip, he tore the waiter's face off the head.

"This will make a perfect trophy," he said softly, turning to face Carlotta whose visage showed a mixture of terror and repulsion.

"What do you want from me?" she whispered, scrambling out of her chair as he slinked towards her, holding the bloody face of the waiter.

"I want your face," he said matter-of-factly.

Trembling, she backed into the wall, closing her eyes, trying to shield herself from what was about to happen. The last thing she remembered was a thin rope squeeze tightly around her neck briefly saw silver stars and blue spots before loosing consciousness.

Arriving into the bustle of Parisians floundering around, wondering who was this mysterious composer. It was old-news that the composer would show up at the masquerade party. He did after all request it. People of all ages were dressed up in several degrees of creativity. Some choose to be conservative; others radical, covering their entire body with paint in order to portray their character.

"Where is this "Phantom" fellow that everyone is jabbering about?" a jeweled sphinx asked a mummy, blowing smoke lazily towards the ceiling.

"I don't know, but I'm sure that when he does, we will know!" the mummy replied testily, griping a champagne glass tightly, downing the red liquid.

Meanwhile, Christine clung to Raoul, frantically searching for a sign of her tutor. "Christine, you must really try to relax!" Raoul chided her, massaging her tense shoulders.

"I can't Raoul! What if he finds us together again, and thinks the worst!"

Raoul's handsome face lost its gentle tone.

"So this is what it is about? You're ashamed to be seen in public with me!"

He threw her arms away and started to stalk off when Christine, sobbing, threw her arms around his waist, pulling his ear to her mouth.

"You know that isn't true!" she whispered fiercely while struggling to keep him within her grasp, "I fear for your life!"

"What can he do to me?" Raoul mumbled, his anger diminishing.

Christine whimpered, tightening her hold on him. Despite several people were watching the couple curiously; they stayed like that for a while until the dinner bell boomed through the ballroom.

"Ladies and gentlemen," cried Andre, who was dressed as a court jester, "if you would take your seats, dinner will be served!"

Slowly, as the tantalizing smells of dinner wafted under painted noses, the party congregated at assigned tables, talking excitedly about the night's activities.

"He hasn't shown up yet!" Andre whispered excitedly to a tuxedo Firmin.

"Don't drop your guard yet!" Firmin hissed, eyes wandering the sparkling room, "This man is a master of surprises."

"I see that you have found a….spectacular mask," the devil commented, watching as Erik finished sewing the last patch of his new mask.

"It wasn't as hard as I thought…you know, getting the material," Erik commented as he cut the thread.

"There's no way Christine can resist you now."

Erik stood up, straightened his spectacular red cape around his scarlet tuxedo.

"You are ready!"

"Places everyone!"

"Are you sure that you can do this?" Raoul asked, holding Christine's jeweled hands protectively.

"Yes, Raoul," she said resolutely, inhaling sharply as she realized the danger ahead.

"I'll be waiting for you right here at the end," Raoul informed, pressing his fevered lips to her chilly hands.

"Till we met again," she said softly, raising his head.

"Goodbye my love," he whispered silkily pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

Raoul hurried off to his box while Christine took her place, waiting for the curtain to go up.

"Sing for me, Christine."

She jerked her head up, face pale, her blue eyes searching for the face.

"Erik?"

"Hush my dear, and sing for me."

Before she could say anything, the curtain had gone up, and it was time for her entrance.

"_Now here's the tale of a man, a lonely man, who dared to love another. Who will survive?_" the chorus sang as they twirled around, swirling brightly colored silk around Christine.

"_Don Juan? Don Juan?_" Christine sang in a high-pitched E, each note vibrating magnificently through the audience.

"What is it, my dear Christine," Erik sang harshly.

There was a deadly hush, the chorus not sure where the real Don Juan was; Raoul and Christine trembling with fear in their respective spots; and the managers, shaking with fury at the imbecile who dared to interrupt the performance.

"Look around you, those who doubted the opera ghost," Erik continued, still unseen.

Loud gasps echoed through the chilly air as the bloody bodies of Carlotta and her servants appeared from the curtains by thin wire, appearing to float in mid air.

"What is going on?" Andre cried, watching in horror as the bodies dangled above the stage, pools of blood collecting on the stage. Some ladies in the audience and on stage started to scream, running out of the theatre.

"Raoul! Raoul!" Christine cried, franticly running around, her costume splattered with metallic red blood.

"Christine!" Raoul cried, racing towards her from the wings, but suddenly was pulled back by an unseen hand.

"Christine," Erik called, coming into view.

"Erik! What is going on?" she demanded, trying to be brave, but her trembling hands gave her away.

"I am claiming what is mine," he said casually, raising his right hand slyly, in which a rope connecting his hand to the Vicotome's neck was.

"No Erik," Christine moaned, hands fluttering to her mouth.

His twisted mouth curling into a wicked grin, he began to sing,

"_Shadows, you left me without saying goodbye. In sleep I came to you, in dreams you returned. I am yours, you are mine._"

Suddenly there was a flash of red light, blinding the remaining people in the theatre.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" Raoul cried as Christine was swept into Erik's arms in a funnel of black smoke. His helpless cry was cut short when the rope tightened around his neck, cutting into his skin. Gasping for breath, he tried to loosen the knot that held the rope in place, but he was suddenly lifted into the air, with a sickening crack, his neck broke, and he fell to the ground, dead.

"She is yours….."

"Christine, welcome to your new home, and husband," Erik said as he carried a terrified Christine into his room, "I know that you won't be happy when you wake up, but I promise, once you hear my proposition, you will change your mind."

"What do you want with me?" Christine demanded while trying to wriggle out of his grasp.

Slightly amused he set her down on the couch, grasping her tiny hands in his.

"My dear, I want you."

He didn't hear her gasp; he was too busy kissing her fingers.

"Erik, I," she began, but drew in a breath as she took in his face.

Squinting at her, he realized that this was the first time she had seen him with out his porcelain mask.

"Do you like my face?" he questioned, lifting her trembling hand to caress his haphazardly stitched face.

Christine began to scream as she felt the coarse thread, the different textures of skin.

"Why do you scream at me?" Erik cried, flinging her hands away, "I'm no longer ugly!"

He drew her up and pressed her tightly against his body.

"I am immortal now, and you are mine. If you sign the contract, you will also become immortal."

She began to sob, the tremors hitting Erik like lightning as he realized that she didn't want to be with him.

"I know I haven't been the gentleman, but you don't understand," he cried, kneeling at her feet, "I had to kill those people, I had to give up my soul, I live only for music and you! Don't deny me Christine! I can't bear it!"

And they wept; Christine's were those of fear and Erik's were those of sorrow and anger.

"If you won't willingly come with me, then your last years will be hell," he said finally, wiping away the burning tears, "You sung my song tonight, you cannot escape or marry anyone else. It's your choice; take the easy way: love me, or the hard way: deny me."

Christine flung herself away, her blue eyes flashing angrily.

"And what if I kill myself first!"

She withdrew a lasso, and swung it around her neck.

He laughed,

"Don't be foolish, my dear. You wouldn't have enough time to strangle yourself before I rescued you. You can't expect me just to sit and watch you die!"

He stepped towards her, arms out stretched.

"Get away from me!"

Suddenly, she wasn't feeling scared. A blind fury overtook her as he continued to walk towards her with such ease and calm. Clearly he thought that he would get away with this atrocity.

"Come, come, Christine!" he admonished, the amused look disappearing as she ran towards his organ, "If I have to take that rope off your neck myself, you will regret it!"

"Damn your music!" she hissed.

"What?" he asked, hurt, puzzled, and frightened as she grabbed a candle and held it over the organ.

"You wouldn't dare!" he cried, not sure whether to go near or back away.

"Damn you!" she hissed, and with a careless gesture, she dropped the candle onto the wooden keys.

"NOOOOO!" he cried, running over beating the growing flames.

"You stupid bitch!" Erik screamed as he whirled around to face her, hands clutching.

"You'll never own me!" Christine spat as she withdrew a knife from her bloody dress.

Frozen, he watched as she plunged the knife deep into her chest.

"Christine!" he wailed as he ran to catch her.

It was too late. She was gone. Her blood slowly leaked out of her body.

"Why do you weep, Erik," the devil cackled.

"Where are you?" he whispered, still cradling Christine's body in his arms.

"You are immortal, you idiot, don't you remember?"

A slow smile crept over Erik's face. He carefully picked Christine's body up, walked over to his organ where it still burned. He set her body over the flames and watched as her body began to burn.

"Till we met again," he whispered, kissing her hand one last time.


	4. Chapter 4

"Christine? Christine? Where are you?"

Groaning, she sat up, rubbing her head.

"I'm down here, Meg!" she called, trying to recollect what she had been doing.

"Christine! You look horrible!" Meg cried, taking in Christine's bloodshot eyes and her rumpled clothes, "I thought you said you'd only be a little bit, cleaning up after your mess! What were you doing?"

"I don't know Meg, but I think I need to go home now," Christine admitted shakily.

"Finally you decide to take my advice. Come, come, I'll get you a cab."

"No, I can walk," Christine tried to reassure her, but failed as her legs gave out from under her.

"Nonsense! You are in no condition. Come on Christine, Carlos is waiting for me!"

Feeling incredibly dizzy, Christine allowed herself to lean against Meg's small, but sturdy frame outside where Meg hailed a cab, told the cabbie the address and pressed several twenties into his bewildered palm.

"Make sure that she gets home safely, sir," Meg begged, a pleading look in her eyes.

"Don't worry Miss, I'll make sure she gets back alright," the cabbie reassured her.

Christine buckled her seat belt and rested her head against the cool glass.

"So, Miss, what happened to you?" the cabbie asked, trying to make a polite conversation.

Ugh, Christine thought to herself.

"I was looking for a solo piece for auditions," she responded, trying to clear the yellow spots that constantly swam in her vision.

"Oh really?" the cabbie asked, curious, "So you're one of them singer gals hoping to make it big?"

"Something like that," Christine muttered, hoping the cabbie would take the hint.

"Well, I wish you luck, Miss," the cabbie said, "My name's Sam, mind you that's not my real name, but it's what I've been called all my life."

Like I care? Christine thought bitterly.

"So, what's your name, Miss, if it's not too rude to ask?"

"Christine," she whispered, "Christine Bayre."

Suddenly, the cabbie began to laugh.

Outraged, she sat up, fighting waves of nausea that threatened to overtake her.

"What is so funny about that sir?"

The cab came to a sudden stop and Christine was thrown forward.

"My dear, I never thought it would be this easy."

Turning around, the cabbie smirked, revealing pointy teeth.

"Who are you?" Christine cried as she flung herself back into the seat, hand on the door.

"That doesn't matter right now, dearie, Erik awaits you."

She screamed as his head burst into flames.

"What's the matter? Afraid of a little fire?" he cackled.

She jerked open the door and ran as fast as she could. The cabby's voice echoed loudly in her head, taunting menacing.

"Where am I?" she sobbed as she tripped over several branches in the unfamiliar forest.

"Christine! Don't run!" a faraway cry shouted.

Tears running down her face, she tried to run faster and faster. Soon her vision was blurred from tears, and her legs gave out. She fell, gasping for breath.

"So we meet again, my dear."

Christine stopped weeping, frozen with fear.

"I knew that I would find you again, Christine."

Leaves crunched as her stalker walked slowly around her.

"Now it is time for you to come back."

"NO!" She screamed, trying to run, but he had grabbed her arms and stuffed a strongly scented cloth over her nose.

"I'm sorry, my dear, but I have to do this," he said softly, patting her hair as black dots swam in her vision.

"No," she whispered in protest before passing out.

When she came to, the first thing to come into focus was a dark shape looming over her.

"What?" she muttered, trying to sit up.

"Now, now, dear, you need to wait until the effects of the drug wear off," a chiding voice scolded her as two strong hands pushed her effortlessly back down.

"Where am I? Meg?" she called feebly, trying to remember what was happening before she had passed out.

"You are in my home, Christine, Meg is elsewhere."

Now a cool, moist cloth was placed on her forehead.

"What are you going to do to me?" she asked weakly, trying to see who placed the cloth on her forehead.

"I'm not going to do anything to you, my dear. Except help you."

The voice sounded strangely familiar, but where had she heard that voice?

"Christine, do you have any idea of how long I've waited for you to come back?"

The cloth was taken off, and a man with strikingly handsome features appeared. His voice was familiar, but the face was not.

"Oh, my head," Christine muttered, holding her hand over her eyes.

"The pain will go away momentarily. Come, give me your hand. I have something I want to show you."

Christine's memory suddenly was jogged, and she flinched.

"Where is the cabbie who knocked me out?" she demanded harshly, "Why have you kidnapped me?"

The man looked puzzled, almost hurt.

"Don't you remember me? I'm the manager at the local theatre, the one who told you about the auditions!"

Christine gasped, as the realization hit.

"Oh, Monsieur, I'm so sorry, I didn't recognize you! I only met you that one time! Please don't let this affect my audition!"

"Christine, Christine!" he cried in concern, patting her arm consolingly, "I understand! You have been through a lot. I found you out in the woods, outside my humble home."

Christine became confused, several images were swimming in her vision: a masked man, a bloody carcass, a headless diva, a handsome man, blood, more blood, endless screaming, a scared face, a deformed, heavily stitched face!

She fell over, clutching her forehead as the images popped endlessly through her head.

"What's wrong Christine? What's wrong!"

Suddenly, she began to sing, eerily,

_Shadows, you quake, you wake, you need me_

The manager stopped, taken aback,

"So you do remember."

She continued to sing eerily, and he joined in. Her mind was becoming more and more focused, memory kicking in, and she realized who the manager really was.

"Erik Barye, you bastard,"

She stepped away, holding her arms across her chest as Erik's expression became masked with anger.

"Yes, Christine! I have come back for you! Do you realize the hell I've been through? Just to find you! Come, come Christine, don't deny me!"

A plan began to form in her mind, maybe, just maybe.

"I was a fool, Erik, forgive me for the pain that I've caused you," she murmured in a silky voice, and began to force her self to step towards him.

His face was astonished,

"You mean it? You'll be mine now?"

She was inches from him now. She ran a finger down his chest tantalizingly, and he shivered.

"I mean it."

The she kissed him. At first he was stiff and unresponsive, the gradually he joined in. It took all of her resolve not to throw up at the sensation. Trying to forget that he was supposed to be dead, she ran her hands and 'caressed' his head. Finding what she was looking for, she dug her fingers into the fleshy mask and pulled hard.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaghhhh" he screamed, trying to pull away, but it was too late.

What was once a handsome face was now a horrible decaying skull. Gray and red goop oozed out of the holes where the flesh hadn't completely decomposed yet. His eyes were flaming, almost popping out of their hollow sockets.

"You traitor!" he screamed as terrified she ran, dropping the mask.

"You cannot hide!" Erik yelled after her.

She had no idea where she was running, but her instincts told her to go down, down, deep down where his music would be. The house was indeed more than humble, gold carpet, gold door handles, but Christine barely paused to take in all this as she ran for her life down the cold steps to his lair, where, she somehow knew, would be.

"Stop!" he demanded.

Ignoring him, she tore through the dark passage, heading straight towards the dim light. Finally she reached the decaying organ, where on top laid a manuscript.

"Don't Christine!" Erik cried out in horror as she picked it up.

With a terrified scream, she ripped the manuscript in half.

Erik fell to the ground, clutching his heart in agony.

"Please! Christine, spare me this pain!" he wailed, as his body began to disingrate.

She continued to rip the manuscript up, despite his howls, and the haunting melody that streamed out as she ripped.

"Christine!" Erik cried out for the last time, before his body burst into flames and evaporated.

She slumped down, tears of exhaustion running down her face.

"Finally," she thought to herself, "My soul can rest in peace, as his."

Lying down, she closed her eyes, and her soul goes into heaven, amidst the song of Shadows, the work of the devil trying to get her back, trying one last time to claim her soul, but it fails.

**The End… or is it?**


End file.
